


The Stranger on the Balcony

by rex_who



Series: Unstoppable Force, meet your unmovable object [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Greg turns forty, Jim crashes parties, Jim likes it rough ;), M/M, Mycroft is overprotective, Semi-secret relationship, Sherlock's first boyfriend, Smut, Surprise(ish) ending, Texting, a little ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:32:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3405704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rex_who/pseuds/rex_who
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John bullies Sherlock into attending Greg's fortieth birthday party, where Sherlock meets a stranger on the balcony<br/>It was originally based on 'Love Story' by Taylor Swift, but I sorta went on a tangent... #sorrynotsorry...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We were both young...

Sherlock leaned uncomfortably against the fireplace, the glass in his hand getting warm. These parties weren’t really his type of thing. He’d only come because John had begged him to. “You don’t have to stay long. Just long enough to show that you care.”  
“But I don’t care,” Sherlock had replied. “It’s someone’s birthday every day, why does it matter if its George’s today?”  
“Because he’s forty, Sherlock! People only turn forty once, and you’re going to be there when Greg does.” Sherlock had sighed and held up his hands in surrender. Social conventions bored him silly.  
He decided to get some air. Fortunately, the balcony was free of amorous couples and drunken police officers. He leaned on the railing, inhaling the cool summer air. He turned around to watch the party. Brightly coloured ball gowns contrasted sharply with the black and white tuxedos bustling about on the polished marble floor.   
Sherlock rolled his eyes as a slow song started melting out of the sound system, and men grabbed the closest woman to them and pulled them into tight embraces, spinning round in pointless, graceless circles. Sherlock had been through years of dance lessons, and it pained him to see the car crash happening inside the party.   
One figure stood out amongst all the couples. A sharply dressed man, wearing the same expression on his face as Sherlock. He was making his way through the wreckage carefully, avoiding being trodden on by stiletto heels. He walked onto the balcony and made a show of brushing himself down. Sherlock couldn’t help but laugh. The other man smiled and winked at him before leaning against the rail next to him. “Aren’t ordinary people sickening?” he asked, an Irish lilt in his voice. Sherlock murmured in agreement. “Where’s your partner?” he asked. “Surely she’s slightly irritated that you’ve just left her alone in there?” the man shrugged. “No partner. I must confess; I'm actually gate crashing. Where’s your partner?” Sherlock shrugged. “No partner. I was nagged into coming by my friend. He’s the one over there, dancing with his wife in the navy blue dress.” The man looked. “Oh yes, I see them. They look very happy together, don’t they?” Sherlock made a non-committal noise. He liked Mary well enough, but he missed his army doctor. “I have to ask; why would you gate crash this? If I had a choice between this and marrying my arch enemy, I’d have a very tough decision to make.” The man laughed. “You have an arch nemesis? How quaint. Who is he, or she?”  
“I’ve never actually met him. All I have is a name, and a whole lot of people that apparently work for him.” The man shifted, looking interested. “Oh yeah? What’s the name?” Sherlock hesitated before giving the information away. Why should he trust this to a total stranger? He didn’t even know his name. But then again, what was the harm? He might even have information. “Moriarty,” he said. The man raised an eyebrow, and swiftly put it back. “What?” said Sherlock, pouncing on potential information. “You just raised an eyebrow. Have you heard of him?” the man shook his head. “No, just an unusual name, that’s all. Not the sort of name one hears around London, anyway.” Sherlock settled back, slightly disappointed.  
The slow song ended, and the couples disbanded. The man nodded at Sherlock’s glass. “I’m going for some more champagne. You want some fresh?” Sherlock nodded. “Please.” He watched the man go, admiring the view. He’d never considered himself to be attracted to other men, but he’d be damned if this one wasn’t an exception. Slightly shorter than Sherlock, with dark brown hair bordering on black slicked back off his face, with a set of chocolate brown eyes to match. Everything about him radiated class.   
The man came back with two glasses of fresh champagne, offering one out to Sherlock, who took it with a grateful nod of the head. He took a careful sip, glancing back into the party. There was a large crowd of people gathering around Lestrade, all clapping and cheering to an upbeat song booming from the speakers. “Have you ever considered how birthdays are sort of a satanic ritual?” asked the man. Sherlock gave him a funny look. “I’m sorry?”  
“Think about it. A group of people stand in a circle around a flaming object chanting a repetitive song, before cutting it open and devouring it.” Sherlock had to put his glass down for fear he’d spill champagne, he was laughing so much. “That was brilliant,” he said, wiping his eyes. “Thank you. Means a lot coming from such a good looking guy.” Sherlock paused. The man looked horrified. “I’m sorry, do you… I mean are you…” Sherlock cut him off. “I’ve always considered myself straight, but if I’m honest… I could make an exception.” The man grinned. “Boy, am I glad that worked out.”   
“Me too,” Sherlock confessed. “I did notice your cheeky glances as I turned around,” said the man, causing Sherlock to flush a deep shade of red. He was about to think of witty comeback when he was saved by the appearance of Mycroft and Lestrade on the balcony. “Sherlock,” began Mycroft. “John said you came, but he didn’t think you were still here.” He noticed the other man. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you had company.” He held out his hand. “Mycroft Holmes, Greg’s… significant other.” The man took it, but before he could introduce himself, Mycroft pulled his hand back. “James Moriarty!” he gasped. The man smiled. “Call me Jim.” Greg and Sherlock looked confusedly between the two men. “Sherlock, why are you talking to an international terrorist? Are you thick? Don’t answer that, actually. We all know you are.” he turned to Moriarty. “As for you, get out of my house before I call my security.” Sherlock spoke up. “What the hell is going on here?” Moriarty turned to him. “You asked why I gate crashed? I wanted to meet you, Sherly my dear. And what a pleasure it was. It has been truly delightful, but Mycroft has requested my departure, so depart I must.” He turned round and walked through the party, Mycroft following him a little too closely for Sherlock’s liking. Greg stayed on the balcony, trying to figure out what just happened. Sherlock ran after them. “Moriarty, wait!” he pushed through the crowds of people that were, by this point, staring. Moriarty turned round. “It’s Jim, Sherlock.” Sherlock waved his hand. “Whatever. Don’t go, Jim. I was having a good time.” Mycroft pushed Jim forwards out the door towards the hall. Sherlock ran past Mycroft and stood in front of Jim. Greg and John had wandered through, curious as to what was happening. Mycroft sighed. “Dr Watson, please could you restrain my brother? He appears to be hysterical.” John approached Sherlock carefully. He wrapped his arms around him, and tried to pull him away. Greg joined in, overpowering Sherlock, who grabbed at Jim’s outstretched hand on the way past. He felt something make contact with his palm, which he quickly stuffed into his pocket. Jim headed out the door. “Until we meet again, Sherlock.” And with a wink, he was gone. John and Greg released Sherlock, who flew immediately at his brother. “Why did you throw him out? He wasn’t doing anything wrong,” he demanded. Mycroft faced him. “Sherlock, listen to yourself. He was a terrorist.” Mycroft’s calmness set Sherlock off. “Impossible!” he yelled. “There is no way that man is capable of being a terrorist!” Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Sherlock, no matter how good his acting was, he has done unspeakable things, and you were stupid enough to fall for it again.”  
“Again? What do you mean, again?”  
“Does the name Irene Adler ring a bell? The woman who worked for Moriarty, who got you to decode a government secret just by smiling at you and taking her clothes off?” this was too much for Sherlock. He lunged at Mycroft, only to be caught by John. “Thank you Dr Watson. I think it would be best if Sherlock was escorted home now.” John nodded. “Come on Sherlock. We’re calling a cab and getting you out of here.”   
Sherlock tried his hardest to hold back tears until he got into the cab, when John put his arm around him. He turned into John’s shoulder and cried. John made comforting noise. “What did he give you?” he asked. Sherlock looked up. “What?”  
“As you walked past, he put something into your hand, and you put it into your pocket. What was it?” Sherlock sniffed. “You know, I don’t actually know,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a smooth, stiff rectangle of paper. Jim Moriarty. Consulting criminal. On the other side was scrawled a phone number. “He wants you to call,” said John, smiling. Sherlock started smiling. “I will call,” he said, excited. He turned to John. “Promise you won’t tell Mycroft,” he said. “I won’t tell a soul, even Mary,” said John. “I promise.”


	2. Secret boyfriends are ALWAYS the hottest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock starts texting Jim, and they go on their first date... cuties :)

After dropping Sherlock off at 221B Baker Street, the cab zoomed away towards John’s house. Sherlock watched it out of the window before sinking into his armchair and pulling out his phone. He typed the number carefully into the space at the top and paused. He had no idea what to write. After all, what did social convention dictate one sent a man you met at a party who turned out to be an international terrorist? He thought for ages, and finally settled on:

_Hope it was worth meeting me. SH x._

He pressed the send button before his brain could give him a hundred reasons not to. His heart skipped a beat when after about thirty seconds a reply came through. A fast texter then. Good.

_I didn’t even know it was you. Happy coincidence, hey? JM x_

_The universe is rarely so lazy. SH x_

_You have rather put a spanner in the works. I have to change my whole plan now. JM x_

Why would he have to change his plan? Sherlock sent a question mark.

_Well, I was planning on killing you, but I don’t think I want to do that anymore. I think I’d rather date you… JM x_

_Mycroft won’t like it. SH x_

_You listen to what your brother says? All the same, we can keep it a secret, if you want. Secret relationships are always the hottest ;) JM x_

Sherlock laughed. Keeping something secret from Mycroft was hard work. His flat was bugged, he had bribed all the baristas and waiters in the cafes and restaurants Sherlock went to in order to spy on him, but Mycroft didn’t have informers everywhere. It could work…

_You might just have yourself a deal. SH x_

His heart was going a mile a minute, but he didn’t care. He was going to see Jim again.

_Brilliant! Where can we meet where Mycroft doesn’t have eyes or ears? JM x_

_St James’ Park, 9pm tomorrow. Can you make it? SH x_

_Of course. See you then, sexy. JM x_

Sherlock grinned. This was going to be fun. He spent all of Sunday pacing round the apartment, ignoring texts from Lestrade and John. When the time came for him to set off, he nearly ran out of the apartment. He calmed himself down, telling himself not to over react. He reached St James’ Park at five to nine. He realised that he’d never specified exactly where in the park to meet, and it wasn’t a small park. His phone buzzed in his pocket.

_Right by the fountain. JM x_

Sherlock stared at his phone. What a strange coincidence. But as he’d told Jim… the universe was rarely so lazy. He approached the fountain, and saw Jim facing away from him, staring into it. He walked up as quietly as he could. “Hello, Sherlock,” said Jim, just before Sherlock could tap him on the shoulder. “How did you know I was there?” asked Sherlock. “I’m a criminal, Sherlock. One gets used to listening carefully when you’re on the most wanted list in six different countries.”

“So it’s true,” said Sherlock, unable to keep the note of disappointment out of his voice. “You are a criminal.” Jim turned around. “Of course. What would either of us be without crime? In an ironic sort of way, we complete each other.” Sherlock had to smile at the irony. A twig snapped behind him, making him jump about three feet in the air. Jim laughed. “Oh Sherlock, I’m the scariest thing in this park. It was probably an animal.” Sherlock relaxed. “Sorry. I guess I’m just expecting Mycroft to jump out of a hedge along with half the secret service.”

“I really don’t know what his problem with me is. Without people like me, he’s out of a job.”

“I guess he’s just afraid you might blow something up at any minute.” Jim laughed. “Now there’s something I don’t do enough of. Blowing things up.” Sherlock hesitated. “Jim?”

“Yes dear?” “What have you done?” Jim shrugged. “Too many things to count. I’ve robbed banks, I’ve kidnapped people, and I’ve killed people. I’ve killed many people, Sherlock, but hardly any personally. I have a sort of network of petty criminals who do my dirty work for me.”

“The taxi driver,” breathed Sherlock. Jim nodded. “Exactly. I was a little put out when John shot him. He was useful. But then again, if John hadn’t shot him, you would have dragged him down to the Old Bailey and he would have blabbed there.” The men stood by the fountain talking. Sherlock shivered as the night grew darker, and Jim put his arm around him. Sherlock shuffled in closer. “You know, Sherlock, I can’t change who I am for you,” said Jim. “I wouldn’t expect you to,” said Sherlock. “I can’t change for you, either.” Jim grinned. “This is going to be fun! Like something out of a rom com film.” Sherlock laughed. “It’s going to be complicated, no denying. Just promise me something.”

“What?”

“Never, ever try and kill me. You will regret it.” Jim laughed. “I promise.”


	3. Better than drugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock does his thing at a crime scene in Mayfair, and Mrs Hudson knows something's up when he's actually... happy? What?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse my poor imagination when it came to thinking of a case... I'm not really an expert on how criminal gangs work *shifty eyes* NO MORE QUESTIONS!

Sherlock and John stood over a dead body in a nice house in Mayfair. The occupants of the house had been on holiday, leaving the house empty for three weeks. They’d returned sun-browned and refreshed, with a dead body waiting for them on the front stairs. Sherlock had arrived on the scene to find a lady sat in the back of ambulance breathing into an oxygen mask. He walked into the house to find an extraordinary amount of blood on the walls. He examined it carefully. “It’s been put on the walls deliberately,” he said to himself. “Deliberately? Why would anyone deliberately put blood on a wall?” asked Lestrade. Sherlock sighed inwardly and ignored him. He looked for patterns in the blood, and was slightly disappointed when he found none. “Clearly for intimidation,” he said, taking a step back. He turned to the body and picked up the wrist. It was covered with a bandage. “No one thought this was odd?” the police shifted uncomfortably. “We’ve identified him as Donald Shutterbridge. He works in a kitchen at the Italian down the road. We all presumed it was a kitchen injury.” “Not a very safe worker if he needs a bandage,” said Sherlock. “We all catch ourselves with a knife when cutting things from time to time,” input Andersen. “Apart from you, obviously.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Correct, for once.” Sherlock ripped the bandage from the wrist. “In any case, this does not appear to be a kitchen injury.” He examined the gaping cut in the wrist, as well as the small bruises around it. Someone had been dragging Shutterbridge by the wrist, directing the spray of blood for maximum coverage.

“I wonder if insurance covers blood on your walls?” half-joked John. “Insurance!” said Sherlock, having a brainwave. “I’m going to need to talk to that lady in the ambulance.” He walked outside, and found her in the same place, but minus the oxygen mask. Lestrade came running out after him. “Sherlock, this is Mrs Padbook. Please be nice!” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Good morning Mrs Padbook. I’m Sherlock Holmes, and I’m a detective investigating this case. Now, I understand you’re a stay at home wife?” she nodded. “How did you know?” she asked. “Not important. Your husband, he worked in insurance, didn’t he?” she nodded again. “But that’s not where he knew most of his friends from, correct?” she nodded. “He always says it’s better to keep one’s personal and professional lives separate,” she said. “And he’s quite right. Tell me, do you visit the Italian restaurant down the road often?” she nodded. “On the third of every month. It’s our favourite restaurant. That’s where the poor man worked, isn’t it?” she asked. “Thank you, Mrs Padbook.” Sherlock walked inside. “Lestrade, I’ve come to a conclusion,” he said, eyes lit up.

Later in his flat, he was draining his pasta when he got a text.

_Nice work today. JM x_

_You were watching. SH x_

_I had to make sure you weren’t up to no good. JM x_

_I would never dream of it, that’s your job. SH x_

_Are you busy tomorrow? JM x_

_What do you have in mind? SH x_

_Me + you, my place, 8pm.I’ll pick you up. JM x_

_Sounds great. SH x_

Sherlock smiled through his spaghetti. He was going to see where Jim lived. You could always tell a lot about a man by his home, in Sherlock’s opinion. It wasn’t about size, or value, it was about presentation. Doing one’s best with what one has available.

After dinner, he picked up his violin and started to play. He played all the happy melodies he hadn’t played in years, thinking about days to come. Mrs Hudson knocked on the door of the flat. “Sherlock, dear, you’ve been playing that violin for hours! Is something the matter?” Sherlock grinned. “No, I’m perfectly fine, Mrs Hudson.” Mrs Hudson studied him. “Sherlock Holmes, are you high again? Honestly, Sherlock, I thought we’d kicked this habit.” Sherlock’s phone buzzed. “No Mrs Hudson, I am not high,” he said, reaching for his phone. “Just very excited.” He unlocked the phone and looked at the text.

_Drugs, huh? JM x_

_Not anymore. Not even cigarettes anymore. SH x_

Sherlock turned his attention back to Mrs Hudson. “Thank you for the concern, Mrs Hudson, but I am just fine.” Mrs Hudson turned to go, looking thoroughly confused. “Sherlock, promise you’re not lying when you say you’re not high.” Sherlock grinned. “I promise.”


	4. Stealing the British Government's little brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock stresses himself out for their second date, upon which Jim asks a couple of questions about Sherlock's history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this one was sort of a filler...

Sherlock didn’t sleep that night, and spent the next day tiring himself out, and was consequently asleep when Jim knocked on the door. He jerked awake as Jim was shouting at him to “open the bloody door before I blow it off!” he jumped to his feet and opened the door. “Sorry, I was asleep.” Jim laughed. “Gosh, tired already?” Sherlock smiled. He wasn’t sure, but he was fairly sure there was a second meaning to Jim’s apparently innocent phrase. “You want to get going?” Jim’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Yeah, let’s go!” he grabbed his jacket and followed Jim out of the door.   
A black car, not dissimilar to Mycroft’s waited outside the door. Jim opened the door for Sherlock, and he slid in, followed by Jim. The driver of the car waited until they both had their seatbelts fastened before pulling out. Sherlock glanced suspiciously at Jim as all the traffic lights turned to green as they approached them. “What?” said Jim, holding his hands up. “People like you and me, we don’t have time for London traffic.” Sherlock had to agree as he thought about all the times he’d been sat in the back of a taxi in traffic when he really needed to at a crime scene. “Why not buy a helicopter?” he asked. “Helicopters are too obvious. One needs something a little more inconspicuous when one is stealing the British Government’s baby brother.” Sherlock grinned as he imagined Mycroft’s expression.   
They arrived at a grand house just on the outskirts of London. “Inconspicuous,” said Sherlock. “What’s the point of being the richest man alive if you can’t spend your money?” he got out of the car and offered his hand to Sherlock. “Get out of the car,” he said. Sherlock took his hand and allowed himself to be lead into the house. They went through to the living room and sat down, snuggled up. “Jim?”  
“Mhm?”  
“How did you know where I live?”   
“A quick search of the internet, my dear. There are so many photos of you stood outside your very own front door. I have to say, I’m fairly fond of the hat.” Sherlock scowled. “I hate that stupid hat.” Jim laughed. “It’s very fetching for you, dear.” Sherlock smacked him across the back of the head. “Oh, and how did you know what Mrs Hudson and I were talking about?” Jim shifted. “I may or may not have hacked into the feed from your brother’s bugs. I have to say, I did enjoy your violin playing. Vivaldi’s Four Seasons- very nice.” Sherlock blushed. “You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed,” said Jim, making Sherlock blush even more. “God, I could just kiss you.” Sherlock snuggled in closer. “Go on. I dare you.”  
“Well, if it’s a dare,” said Jim, grinning. He grabbed Sherlock’s face and kissed him. Sherlock sank into the kiss, feeling Jim’s tongue drawing across his lower lip. He granted access slowly, feeling Jim’s tongue dance into his mouth. He felt his breathing get heavier, and he put his hands on Jim’s shoulders to steady himself. Jim pulled away. “Sherlock, you okay?” he asked. “Better than okay,” said Sherlock. “It’s just that you were breathing really heavily,” said Jim. “A sign of excitement,” replied Sherlock. “I didn’t think a dare would turn out so well.” Jim grinned. “I’ve never been one to turn down a dare.” Sherlock laughed. “I can tell.”   
“Are you calling me a slut?”  
“If the boot fits,” Sherlock said, grinning. Jim pounced on him, pinning him down. “Call me a slut!” he brought his mouth down hard on Sherlock’s, using tongue and teeth to pull. “I don’t even wear boots,” said Jim through a mouthful of Sherlock’s lip. “They don’t go well with suits.” Sherlock laughed. “That’s definitely the weirdest thing anyone’s said to me whilst kissing.” Jim pulled back. “Have you ever had a boyfriend?”  
“I had a couple of girlfriends at university, but I always ended it with them.”  
“Why?” asked Jim, playing with Sherlock’s hair. “They always wanted to do things together, when I had more important things to do.” Jim twisted one of Sherlock’s curls between his index finger and thumb. “What kind of things? Like dates, or sex?” Sherlock shifted. “Both. I never objected to a date every now and again, to the theatre or the cinema, but every other day is excessive, for dates and sex.” Jim shifted in closer. “You’re going to hate me,” he said, leaning into Sherlock’s ear. “I’m a dating sex fiend. I’ll be calling you every day for sex and dates.” Sherlock laughed. “I don’t think I realised it wasn’t the individual girls that were the problem, instead of the gender in general, until the other day,”  
“When we started talking on the balcony,” finished Jim. “Well that’s nice; I’ve got a shiny new boyfriend to break in. This is going to be more fun than I thought.” Sherlock hit him. “What kind of person do you think I am? You have to take me to dinner first,” he half joked. “Brilliant,” said Jim. “How’s Tuesday for you?”  
“Completely clear,” answered Sherlock. “Lovely,” said Jim. “Where are we going?” asked Sherlock. Jim tapped the side of his nose. “It’s a surprise,” he said. “A nice surprise?”   
“A lovely surprise, I promise.”


	5. Secrets are too hard to keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft pops up, and tries to bully Sherlock into socialising. Jim and Sherlock go one their 3rd date, and guess who's there?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh, not Mycroft!! He's sweet really, he just wants what's best for Sherlock. This is the chapter where the smut begins.  
> Don't say I didn't warn ya ;)

Sherlock was sat in his chair in 221B, pondering where they were going on Tuesday when Mycroft walked in. Sherlock ignored him. He still wasn’t speaking to him regarding the incident at the party. “Hello, little brother.” Silence. “Sherlock, I know you can both see and hear me.” Silence. “When was the last time you took a case?”

“A few days ago, actually. I helped your boyfriend with the Mayfair case.”

“Oh yes, I remember now. Greg’s always in such a good mood when cases are solved quickly.” Sherlock held up his hand. “I don’t want to know.”

“Grow up, Sherlock,” said Mycroft. “In any case, you need to get over him. He only would have hurt you.” Sherlock stood up. “Get out,” he said. Mycroft stayed sat where he was, in John’s chair. “Sherlock,” he said, a note of irritation in his voice. “Please stop behaving like a teenager, and think sensibly. You need to get out of this flat. I want you to call John Watson right now and arrange to meet with him.”

“Why should I? The only person who needs to leave right now is you. Off you go!” he stood with the door open. Mycroft made a show of pulling himself up out of his chair. “Oh, by the way, I know about your little rendez-vous in St James’ Park. Not wise, my dear brother. Do yourself a favour,” he said turning to go. “Talk to Sally Donovan. She’s recently single and would be glad of the company.” Sherlock slammed the door in Mycroft’s face. His phone buzzed on the table where he’d left it.

_Sally Donovan? Really? Can tell your brother’s gay. JM x_

Sherlock laughed. Trust Jim to be listening in on their conversation. Just as well he didn’t text earlier, because Mycroft would demand to see what was so funny, and then he’d be in trouble. He was already listening into Sherlock’s conversations via the bugs in his flat, and the last thing Sherlock wanted was for Mycroft to hack his phone too. Another text came through.

_Still clear for Tuesday? JM x_

_Of course- wouldn’t miss it for the world. SH x_

Normally Sherlock wouldn’t dream of typing something like that to someone. Emotion was a problem, sentiment a chemical defect that can be used against a person, and with Sherlock’s lifestyle, he really couldn’t afford to be getting attached to people. Jim was different though. Sherlock had almost instantly put his faith in him, and he could never quite fathom the reason why. Maybe it was the smile- the flashy grin that meant he was about to say or do something naughty; which, when Sherlock thought about it logically, was another in a very long list of reasons not to trust him. Sherlock lay back on the sofa, content in his silence. His phone buzzed again. He rolled his eyes.

_I can get you the world; if you want it. JM x_

_I don’t think I need the world. All those silly people running around, living their boring lives? No thanks. I’ll just have you. SH x_

_Will you now? I rather think it’ll be the other way round, when the time comes ;) JM x_

Sherlock wasn’t entirely sure of the context of the last text. He wasn’t sexually oblivious, not by any means, but he wasn’t good at dirty talk. Most of the innuendos Jim made simply flew over his head. He laughed them off, hoping that his laughter wasn’t being misinterpreted for something else.

Tuesday came around quickly, and soon Sherlock was examining himself in the full length mirror in his room. He had decided to go for the purple shirt that he was wearing when he and Jim first met. Jim said he liked that shirt. Sherlock caught his breathing rate accelerating. Nervous? Why would he be nervous about dinner with Jim? He told himself to stop acting like crush obsessed teenager and pulled on his jacket. His phone buzzed, telling him the car was outside and he’d better not be asleep again. He grinned to himself and headed down the stairs. The same black car as before was waiting outside, and Sherlock opened the door to find Jim grinning like a Cheshire cat. “What?” he asked. “You’re wearing it,” he said, leaning in close. “The purple shirt of sex.” Sherlock laughed. “And why do you call it that?” Jim was practically on his knee. “Because every time you wear it, you look so unbelievably hot that it just want to fuck you here and now.”

“I would have thought you above such vulgarity,” replied Sherlock, teasing. “Oh Sherly, do you even know me at all? I’m not above anything, I just don’t like getting my hands dirty; a rule I’m more than willing to break for you.” Sherlock swallowed. Jim ruffled his curls. “Don’t worry, love. Only when you’re ready.” Sherlock hugged him, not feeling the need to say anything.

They arrived at the restaurant at exactly the right time. Sherlock followed Jim in, slightly apprehensive about the type of place a wanted criminal eats. His concerns fell away when he walked through the grand front doors. A crystal chandelier hung elegantly from the ceiling, dimly lighting the white-covered tables below. Each table had its own candle to provide romantic lighting, and a large but not obstructive arrangement of flowers as a centrepiece. The waiter smiled as he greeted the couple. “Good evening sirs. Please allow me to show you to your table.” He glided ahead, and Sherlock took Jim’s arm and they sauntered after him. The waiter pulled out their chairs for them, waiting politely while they settled down. “Please; browse the menu, and I will return to take your orders.” Jim grinned as the waiter drifted off.

“I have to say, I’m impressed,” said Sherlock. “What, you thought we’d be going to some run down joint with body outlines on the floor?” Sherlock laughed. It was ridiculous when Jim put it like that. Sherlock glanced over at the door, surveying his surroundings. He froze suddenly. “Sherlock? What is it? What’s wrong?” asked Jim, trying to crane round to see what had upset Sherlock.“It’s Mycroft,” whispered Sherlock.

How could he have been so stupid? Today was Greg and Mycroft’s anniversary, of course they were going to be there. “Quick, if we hide now, they’ll never know,” said Sherlock, grabbing at the tablecloth. “Oh no you don’t,” said Jim. “Let them come. We’re ready for it.” Sherlock started really freaking out. He was reassured by Jim taking his hand, and stroking up and down with his thumb. “Sherly, it’s going to be okay. Trust me.” Sherlock looked into Jim’s chocolate eyes, and saw the sincerity. He relaxed. “I’ll be right by your side,” said Jim, flashing his trademark grin.

Sherlock watched as the waiter showed Greg and Mycroft to their table. He watched as the waiter bowed away, and Mycroft squinted slightly, trying to be discreet in his pointing. Greg turned around to see what Mycroft was making such a fuss about, and Sherlock saw his eyes widen as he turned to Mycroft and shook his head. Sherlock saw Greg try and pull Mycroft down as he got out of his seat, eventually giving up. Jim gave Sherlock’s hand a squeeze. Sherlock took a deep breath. “Hello, brother dear,” he said as soon as Mycroft was close enough. “Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?” hissed Mycroft. Sherlock put on a show of mock confusion. “Having a pleasant dinner, as one normally does in a restaurant.” Mycroft hissed. “Granted, but why is he here?” he nodded towards Jim. He noticed for the first time that Jim had his hand wrapped tightly around Sherlock’s. “What is going on here?” he demanded, glaring between the two men. “Maybe I can explain,” said Jim, in his smoothest voice. Mycroft tapped his foot expectantly. “After Sherlock and I met at your lovely boyfriend’s party, and you dragged me out in a somewhat undignified manner,” (Mycroft huffed) “I slipped my number into your luscious brother’s pocket, and we arranged to meet a few times, and I’m fairly certain we’re official now, right Sherly?” Sherlock nodded, brave façade melted away. Mycroft looked like he was going to explode. “Sherlock, he’s killed people! Just for the fun of it! He’s a psychopath!” Sherlock got angry. “Why does it matter! He’s my boyfriend, and I love him! It’s just as well you don’t approve, because if you did, he’d be some boring, ordinary person. Why can’t you just let me be happy?” Sherlock felt the tears threatening to fall.

“I told mummy I’d look after you, and I’m hardly doing that if I’m letting you mess around with some psychopath who is ultimately going to do you in, Sherlock! I don’t want to be stood around your grave in a few months because this maniac’s killed you. I couldn’t do that to mummy, and you couldn’t either.”

“Leave mummy out of this! This has nothing to do with her! I’m not stupid, Mycroft. You’re trying to use mummy to blackmail me, and it won’t work!” Mycroft drew a deep breath, and Sherlock flinched, afraid of what was going to happen next. “Fine,” said Mycroft. “Don’t come crying to me, because I will laugh in your face and say I told you so.”

And with that, he turned on his heel back to a confused looking Greg. Sherlock turned to Jim. “That could have gone better.”

“I’ll say; you’re shaking.” Sherlock looked at his free hand. He was shaking like a rabbit with anxiety. “Sorry,” he said, trying desperately to calm his pulse rate. Jim leaned over the table and kissed him. Just a quick, gentle kiss, but it made Sherlock feel a lot better. They were interrupted by a discreet cough. “Sorry sirs, should I return at a more suitable moment?” Sherlock blushed as Jim grinned. “Not at all,” he said. “Let’s see, my partner and I will have…”

After the meal, the couple decided to walk back to Jim’s house, relishing in their new freedom. They got back to Jim’s and Sherlock made himself at home on the sofa while Jim made coffee. He accepted the steaming mug gratefully as Jim sat down. “I have to say, that was one of the more interesting conversations between you and Mycroft recently.” Sherlock shrugged, not as bothered as he should have been about Jim listening in on his conversations with people. “He’s not an interesting person,” he said, downing the last of his coffee. “Unlike you,” said Jim. “You, my dear, are the most interesting person I’ve ever met.” Sherlock flushed as Jim drained his coffee cup. “I could say the same about you.” Jim patted his lap, and Sherlock lay down, placing his head on the criminal’s legs. Jim stroked his hair. Sherlock let out a sigh of content as he felt Jim’s fingers comb through his curls. Jim leaned down and gave Sherlock a deep kiss. Sherlock returned it with eagerness, opening his mouth to allow Jim access. Jim put his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders as he pulled away. Sherlock sat up. “Why did you stop?” he asked, with a slightly whiny tone in his voice. “Because I don’t think I could stop, even if I wanted to, once we were going. I didn’t want to do that to you.” Sherlock shut him up with a kiss. “Time to get your hands dirty, Jim.”

He saw a light flicker in the criminal’s eyes that he tried to veil. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I’m more than sure,” said Sherlock. “Don’t make me beg; I won’t do it, you know.” The light flickered in Jim’s eyes, almost black with arousal. “Won’t beg, will you? By the time I’m finished, you’ll be on your knees crying, begging me to fuck you.” Sherlock licked his lips involuntarily. Jim flashed his bright grin, but there was something different about it this time… before Sherlock could put his finger on it, Jim was kissing him again. This too was different, with a more urgent feel to it. Sherlock felt Jim nipping at his bottom lip with his teeth, making him moan quietly. “Don’t shush them,” said Jim, eyes on fire. “Scream for me, Sherlock.” He went back to kissing, and started undoing the buttons on Sherlock’s shirt. Sherlock was wriggling, unable to stay still. “What say you,” said Jim, between kisses, “That we take this to the bedroom?” Sherlock nodded desperately, not trusting his voice.

Jim stood up, carrying Sherlock with him. Despite his desperation to get closer to Jim, Sherlock was curious as to what Jim’s bedroom looked like. Jim kicked open the door, and Sherlock saw a big bed, a wardrobe, a bed side table and a few paintings on the wall. Surprisingly minimalistic, compared to Jim’s everyday flashiness. Jim threw him down onto the bed, straddling him. He began kissing Sherlock’s neck, biting and pulling just enough to drive Sherlock crazy. Sherlock arched his back as the skin broke. He started clawing at Jim’s shirt, trying to undo the buttons, but his fingers weren’t cooperating. Jim laughed. He moved his mouth back up to Sherlock’s and started helping him with his shirt; one button at a time, just to drive the detective crazy. Sherlock clawed at any area of skin visible, leaving scratch marks across Jim’s chest. “Getting desperate, are we?” Sherlock shook his head, trying to mask the fact that his breathing was short and jagged, and he was already hard. Jim dragged his teeth down Sherlock’s chest, sending Sherlock’s mind blank. He moaned softly again, much to Jim’s amusement. Jim started work on Sherlock’s trousers, working them softly down the detective’s legs. Sherlock lifted his hips to let them get through. Jim trailed a finger over Sherlock’s erection, provoking a long moan. “What is it, Sherly? What do you want?” “You know damn well what I want, you sadistic bastard…” Jim circled his finger around Sherlock’s shaft. “I’m not sure that I do…” he leaned in close. “Beg for it, Holmes.” Sherlock whimpered. Jim continued his hand motions around his cock, and Sherlock screamed out. “Please!” he screamed, before he could stop himself. “Please what?” asked Jim, grinning to himself. He was enjoying this. “P-please suck me, Jim.” “What’re the magic words, Sherlock?” Sherlock was nearly gagging at this point. “I’m… begging,” he gasped. Jim winked, easing Sherlock’s pants off over his erection. “That’s all I needed to hear.” He wrapped his mouth round Sherlock, flicking his tongue, watching the detective squirm as he tried to hold back his groans. “Scream, Sherlock. Scream my name.” “Fuck- Jim- ah!” Sherlock could hardly speak.

Jim could feel Sherlock’s muscles tense up, and pulled his mouth away. “You bastard,” growled Sherlock. Jim tutted. He fiddled with his own trousers, strained against his erection, leaving himself in just his underwear. Sherlock grabbed desperately at the waistband, trying to pull them off. Jim hooked his thumbs around the band, pulling deliberately slowly, giving Sherlock a chance to change his mind. Sherlock growled. Jim grinned as he removed his pants, watching Sherlock’s expression as he drank in Jim’s image. “Now, Sherly,” said Jim, pinning Sherlock’s hands above his head, “I’m not giving you anything until you ask for it.” he rubbed his hips up against Sherlock, watching as the detective struggled between pride and desperation. “F-fuck me, Jim…” Jim could see the strain as Sherlock tried to control himself. “Go into daddy’s drawer, and get the lube.” Sherlock stretched out and opened the drawer, rifling around for a bottle. He pulled it out, handing it to Jim. Jim cracked open the top, smearing a generous amount on his fingers. He slipped one finger inside Sherlock’s hole, watching as the detective threw back his head, eyes closed in a mixture of pain and pleasure. Jim kissed him. “I know it hurts,” he said, slipping another finger in. Sherlock gasped and moaned loudly. Jim curled and uncurled his fingers, making the detective scream. “Jim,” he gasped, as one more finger went in. Jim probed around, trying to find Sherlock’s prostate. “Fuck!” there it is. Jim pulled his fingers out slowly, reaching for the lube bottle. He slathered a generous amount over his cock, and lined himself up. “Ready?” asked Jim. Sherlock nodded, forehead glistening with sweat as Jim went in. despite the stretching, he screamed out in pain as he felt Jim inside him. Jim paused for a moment, letting Sherlock get acclimated. Sherlock moaned. “Fuck me, Jim.” Jim grinned as he started thrusting deeper and deeper inside Sherlock, who was shouting loudly enough for the whole of London to hear. “Jim-fuck, fuck, FUCK!” He was panting, and could feel his muscles tighten again. “Jim… I’m close…” Jim was too, so he just nodded. “Scream my name, Sherlock. Who made you come? Shout it.” Sherlock yelled out Jim’s name as he came, and the sight sent Jim over the edge, pulling out just in time to come all over Sherlock’s stomach. He fell onto the bed, sweaty and panting. Sherlock waited as the smudges cleared from his vision. Jim rolled over to face him.

“Enjoy that, did we?” Sherlock nodded, still not trusting his voice. Jim gave him a quick kiss, wiping the sweat off Sherlock’s forehead. “Me too. I know it hurts, but what do you say to a shower?” Sherlock laughed. “I didn’t think I’d get quite so sweaty. Clearly I’m in worse physical shape than I thought.” They both laughed together. “If you think that was good, it only gets better from here on in.”

“Really?”

“Promise.”


	6. Poor choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's a little naughty and uses Jim's guys to get some dirt on Donovan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another filler chapter, I'm afraid. It's almost like the 'good ole days'; Sherlock and John on scene, being rude to Donovan... :') #nostalgia

Sherlock stood next to John at a crime scene. John rarely came to this type of thing anymore, not now Mary was pregnant, but when he did, Sherlock enjoyed his company. “Did you ever text that guy?” asked John. Sherlock grinned. “You could say that.” John studied Sherlock’s face. “Sherlock, what are you not telling me? Have you two been meeting each other?”  
“You could put it like that,” said Sherlock, still grinning. John stared at him. He had a fairly good idea what Sherlock was hinting at, but he wasn’t sure… would they? He was about to say something when Sherlock was called over by Lestrade. “What do you think?” asked Greg, looking expectantly at Sherlock. “It’s not one of your boyfriend’s, is it?” sneered Donovan. She often made remarks about Sherlock and Jim, after watching the scene at Greg’s party. Sherlock looked at her. “Donovan, I'm really not sure how you are managing to remember anything of the night of Greg’s party; you had a substantial amount of alcohol. You know you really shouldn’t drink so much, it leads to very poor decisions being made.” He looked pointedly at her stomach. “Have fun explaining that to Mrs Anderson.” Donovan looked like she was going to tear Sherlock’s head off. “How did you… you couldn’t have deduced that, you… you freak!” Sherlock smirked. He hadn’t deduced it at all; one of Jim’s people had… gathered some information about her, and discovered that she’d purchased a pregnancy test, then three more. They had, apparently (according to Jim’s person), all been positive.  
Lestrade stepped between them. “That’s enough!” he said, glaring at them both. “Sherlock, what do you know about the body?”  
Jim sat on the sofa, waiting for Sherlock to come back. He had been texting Moran all day, organising seven simultaneous murders. He chuckled as he thought to a conversation he’d just happened to overhear between Mycroft and Lestrade. “Sherlock’s a smart man,” Lestrade had said. “He’s not going to be with someone who kills people for fun. He might get off on murder, but I don’t think it’s like that.” Mycroft had sighed. “Maybe you’re right, Greg. You usually are, and I hope that this time’s not the exception. Who knows? Maybe Sherlock will eliminate Moriarty’s threat.” Jim had giggled to himself. So, Mycroft thought he’d give up his crime business for Sherlock? No way. He loved Sherlock, but there was no way he was giving up crime. If he had his way, Sherlock would give up detective work and join him in his line of work, but he knew that was unlikely to happen. So Mycroft was just going to have to get over himself.  
He jumped as Sherlock walked into the room. “You know, this isn’t your house. Etiquette requires that you knock.” Sherlock shrugged and threw himself don on the sofa. “Thanks for that information on Donovan. Worked well.” Jim grinned. “See? A little crime is good once in a while.”  
“I don’t think murdering people every other day is classed as ‘a little crime’.” Jim mock pouted. “You’re no fun.” Sherlock smiled. “How many people are dying today?”  
“Seven,” said Jim, surprised. They didn’t often talk about their work, for obvious reasons. “Better make that eight,” said Sherlock. “Because you’re going to personally murder me when you find out how many of your contacts I got arrested today.” Jim laughed. “Oh, I’ve got plenty more where they came from. But you; I’ve only got one of you. I’ll just make you pay another way.” He flashed his trademark smile at Sherlock, who couldn’t help but be reminded of a Venus fly trap, luring its prey in with pretty colours and then, SNAP!  
“Donovan’s onto us,” said Sherlock, quickly switching his mind away from carnivorous plants. “What’s she going to do? Tell on us to Scotland Yard?” Sherlock grinned. “Lestrade hasn’t told Donovan about his and Mycroft’s relationship. Somehow, I don’t think she’s a member of LGBT community.”  
“Primeval.” Sherlock shrugged. “One gets used to simple minded people’s jealousy when one is extraordinary.”  
“Incidentally, one makes said simple minded people jealous just by referring to oneself as one,” said Jim, bored. “Don’t think you can side track me with ordinary gossip. Really, Sherlock, I’m so disappointed in you.” His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he went to answer it. “What do you want?” he practically spat down the phone. “What?” Sherlock took this as a sign to mean Jim was going to take a while. He grabbed a post it note from the windowsill, and scrawled a quick note. 

I have to run- things to do. See you at Baker Street in three hours; promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Donovan has been a naughty girl! Remember, kids, alcohol + parties= poor choices.  
> this is the only mentioning of Donovan's pregnancy, which is why it's not tagged.


	7. Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim breaks into Sherlock's flat, and smut follows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's pure SMUT... oopsie!

Sherlock returned to Baker Street with half an hour to spare. He ambled through the kitchen and put the kettle on, humming to himself. He froze solid when out of nowhere, a voice started humming a harmony. A laugh followed. “You are quite right to be afraid, my dear. Sneaking out while I was on the phone? That’s just rude, Sherly.” Sherlock relaxed slightly. “I thought you were a murderer.”   
“You’re not wrong.” Jim appeared out of the shadows. “You’re going to make some tea, then I’m going to make you wish you weren’t born.” Sherlock grinned slightly to himself. He tried to steady himself as he poured the hot water from the kettle into two mugs. He pulled out the tea bags and added the milk. “I’m so glad you made that the right way,” said Jim, as Sherlock handed him the mug. “I don’t care who you are, if you make my tea wrong I’ll kill you on the spot.” Sherlock raised his eyebrow in slight surprise.   
They sat in the living room in peaceful silence. Sherlock observed Jim covertly over the top of his mug. When he’d finished, he went through to the kitchen and put his mug in the sink. When he returned to the living room, Jim was nowhere in sight. He opened his mouth to call out for him, only to have a soft hand clamp over it. He was pushed up against the wall. “Don’t even think about biting me,” said Jim, just as Sherlock was shifting his mouth to sink his teeth into Jim’s palm. “Feel free to scream all you want,” Jim whispered in Sherlock’s ear. “Mycroft is listening.” Sherlock winked. Jim used his free hand to slick back his hair. “Now, there is the small matter of your bad manners.” Sherlock fought to get Jim’s hand off his mouth, struggling to breathe. “Stay still, Sherly, or this will hurt all the more.” He moved his hands onto Sherlock’s shoulders, pinning him back before moving in for a kiss. Sherlock gasped as Jim’s teeth tore at his bottom lip, drawing blood. Jim pulled him off the wall, not breaking contact with his lips, and pushed Sherlock against the desk, sweeping papers all over the floor. Sherlock yelled as his spine made contact with the hard edge. Jim pulled his mouth away. Sherlock noted it was dark red, coated with his blood. He put a finger up to his mouth, only to have it come away sticky and the same colour as Jim’s mouth.   
Jim was pulling at Sherlock’s jacket, throwing it to the floor. He tore the shirt off Sherlock’s chest, causing tiny friction burns on Sherlock’s skin. Sherlock moaned slightly as Jim wrapped his mouth around Sherlock’s neck, turning into a full out yell as Jim’s teeth broke skin. Jim sucked at the wound, drawing out more blood and another moan from Sherlock. Sherlock raked his fingers through Jim’s hair, feeling himself slipping out of control, already nearly hard. Jim pulled Sherlock’s hands out of his hair and used one hand to hold them above Sherlock’s head. Sherlock had no idea where Jim got his strength. He wasn’t skinny like he was, but he wasn’t exactly built, either. Jim was using his other hand to remove his own jacket and shirt, placing them carefully on the chair behind the desk.   
Now they were both half naked, Sherlock could feel Jim’s heat even more. It was driving him crazy, having him this close but not being allowed to touch. He wriggled between Jim and the desk. “Still can’t stay still?” murmured Jim. Sherlock tried unsuccessfully to bite back a moan as Jim hooked his thumbs through the loops of the detective’s trousers, releasing his hands. Sherlock took the opportunity and dragged his nails down Jim’s back. Jim hissed, and grabbed one of Sherlock’s wrists. He bit down hard, and sucked, leaving a purple bruise. “Have fun explaining that one, my dear.”   
Sherlock was past the point of caring. Jim carried on removing his trousers. Sherlock was stood against the desk in just his underwear. Jim pushed on his shoulders, bending his back backwards, in a manner Sherlock found himself enjoying, in a weird sort of way. “We are flexible, aren’t we?”   
“Years of-mmff- dance lessons,” gasped out Sherlock. “Sweetie, I’m not complaining; quite the opposite, in fact. I must file a mental note to test your flexibility at some point.” He pulled off Sherlock’s pants, leaving him exposed. His tip was already leaking. Jim laughed and trailed a finger across Sherlock’s erection, before bringing it up to his face. “Open wide,” he said, holding his finger close to Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock shook his head. “Open up, for daddy.” Sherlock refused again. “Open your mouth, Sherlock,” said Jim, all traces of playfulness gone. Sherlock parted his lips slightly, and Jim slipped his finger in the gap. “Lick,” Jim instructed, still using the commanding tone. Sherlock felt every word go to his cock, and he licked Jim’s finger, a slight salty taste filling his mouth. “Good boy,” said Jim, playfulness back. He pulled a bottle out of his pocket, and placed it on the desk. “Turn yourself around while daddy sorts himself out,” he said. Sherlock stayed where he was, hoping to hear strong Jim again. “Stomach on the desk, now.” There. Sherlock slowly turned himself round, gripping onto the sides of the desk for support. “Like being ordered around, hey Sherlock?” whispered Jim in his ear. Sherlock moaned loudly as he felt something cold slip into his anus. “I didn’t think you had that kind of kink.” Sherlock hung onto the desk for dear life as another cold finger found its way into him. He tried desperately to think of a witty come back to throw back at Jim, but his mind felt like it was melting of his ears. “Come on, Sherly,” said Jim, almost sounding malicious. “Don’t you have something clever to say?” Sherlock shivered and moaned as Jim wriggled his tongue inside his ear and pushed in another finger. He whimpered as Jim started talking in his ear. “I’m going to fuck you senseless over this desk,” he said, curling and uncurling his fingers. “But only if you say please.” Sherlock was a quivering mess. His curls were plastered to his head with sweat, and his face was flushed red. The only thing holding him up was the desk. He shook his head, refusing to beg, even though he knew how it would ultimately end. Jim scissored his fingers making Sherlock howl. “Daddy won’t tell you again, Sherlock. Say please, and you can have what you want. That’s the whole point of this, isn’t it? To teach you some manners.” Sherlock felt a hard slap on his ass. “I’m sorry!” he yelled, the pain bringing tears to his eyes. “For what?” asked Jim, grinning sadistically. “For being rude,” gasped Sherlock. “And running off. I want it, Jim.” A hand pulled his hair backwards. “What was that, Sherlock?”  
“I- I want you, daddy. To fuck me, please…” Jim released his hair. “As a special reward for good manners.” Sherlock gripped tight onto the desk as he felt Jim remove his fingers and thrust into him. He tipped his head back and yelled. “Ah, Jim… fuck, fuck, FUCK!” Jim thrust into him, hitting the prostate every time. “I’m… I…” Jim put a hand in Sherlock’s hair. “Are you going to come?” he asked, surprising Sherlock with his ability to form coherent sentences. Sherlock nodded desperately. Jim hoisted him up, and lay him face up on the desk. “Do it, Sherlock. Come for me. Let Mycroft know who controls you.” Sherlock panted as smudges invaded his vision. “Jim!” he yelled. “Jim controls me.” With that, he painted his stomach white with come, Jim following shortly after, the sound of Sherlock calling his name enough to send him over the edge.   
Once the smudges had cleared from his vision, Jim pulled out. “Come on, let’s go have a shower.” Sherlock slid off the desk, collapsing as soon as his feet hit the floor. Jim ran over in alarm. “Are you alright?” Sherlock nodded as he tried and failed to pull himself to his feet. “It’s difficult to walk straight afterwards,” he noted out loud. Jim laughed. “I suggest you store that little titbit in your mind palace.” Sherlock flushed as Jim pulled him off the floor and carried him to the bathroom. “That was brilliant, though. Do that to me every time.”  
“What take away your ability to walk? It’s a promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise that this chapter comes off as a little 'Fifty Shades'ish, but Sherlock and Jim are in a loving relationship.   
> Repeat after me: There IS a BIG DIFFERENCE between having it rough and ABUSE.  
> Remember to stay safe in relationships, kids.


	8. Love notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim goes away, and sherlock has to try and occupy himself in the meantime.

Sherlock woke up the next morning, a strange feeling of emptiness by his side. He turned over and found a note on Jim’s pillow. 

Sorry to fuck and run, darling, but something came up. I’m going to be out of town for a week, maybe two. Sorry! Have fun with Johnny while I’m gone. JM x

Sherlock stared at the note for a few minutes, not quite understanding. He reached for his phone, dialling Jim’s number. No answer. He sent him a text instead, upset that Jim hadn’t answered his phone call. He shook his head. He was being stupid. Jim was probably mid-murder somewhere, and couldn’t answer the phone. He pulled himself out of bed and wandered into the kitchen, to find a post it on the microwave. 

Breakfast is in here. You may want to warm it up. JM x. 

Sherlock absent mindedly pushed buttons on the microwave, wondering where Jim had gone.   
The microwave pinged, interrupting his thoughts. He threw open the door, sending Jim’s note fluttering to the floor. He wandered through to the living room, hoping to find more little yellow post its but was disappointed.   
His phone buzzed halfway through breakfast, and he jumped on it, hoping it might be Jim. He felt like throwing his phone across the room when it was Lestrade, asking for help on a case. Is this how I’m going to spend my time while he’s gone? He mused. Going crazy with desperation, like any crush obsessed teenager? He sighed as he sent a text back to Lestrade. He had nothing better to do, and anyway, it sounded fairly interesting. Nothing that would occupy him for more than a few hours at most, but every little helps.  
The winter months had hit London hard, and it was particularly icy in the streets the council didn’t deem worthy of salting. Sherlock almost fell whilst walking and observing some particularly interesting icicles at the same time, causing a group of underdressed teens to laugh.   
When he arrived at the crime scene, he found a perfectly preserved body, frozen stiff with cold, rather than rigor mortis, and a group of police officers huddled together clasping coffee in their cold hands. Lestrade made his way over to Sherlock. “Didn’t think you’d take this one,” he said, rubbing his hands together to try and create friction to keep them warm. Sherlock shrugged. “Got nothing better to do.” He walked over to the body, dropping to the floor to examine the corpse for any irregularities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Sherlock... so desperate he has to solve cases! *gasp*  
> I realise this one's a short 'un, but good things come in small packages.


	9. Old friends, new ideas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock meets up with John for a coffee, where he's drilled for details of his and Jim's relationship. The London Council let him down when he needs them most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jim's in trouble, and Sherlock too!

After he’d finished at the crime scene (cause of death: an injection of heroine, followed by a syringe full of air. The perpetrator obviously wanted to cover his tracks, make it look like an accident) and caught the suspect (co-worker/ drug dealer whom the victim had threatened to report to the police), Sherlock received a text from John.

_Fancy a cup of coffee to catch up? JW_

_As long as you’re not busy. JW_

Sherlock accepted, just looking for an excuse to not go back to the apartment and stew in his loneliness. He met John at the café, and after the customary enquiries into each other’s wellbeing, John finally asked the one question he was dying to know the answer to. “So, are you and James seeing each other?” Sherlock decided to play dumb. “Well, no, right now I’m seeing you, and I’ve got no idea what he can see.”

“Don’t you play dumb with me, Sherlock Holmes. I meant, are you two together, in a relationship?”

“You could say that… remember when you asked me if I’d called him?” John nodded, listening intently. “Well, that was the day after our…” Sherlock counted on his fingers. “… third date.” John grinned. “So, how far have you gone?” Sherlock suddenly got the feeling of being interrogated, and went on the defensive. “I would expect this type of questioning from Mary, not a mature army doctor.” John held his hands up. “Just curious. When can I meet him properly?” Sherlock shrugged. “He’s not around at the minute, so I'm not sure.” John chuckled. “Trouble in paradise?”

“What? No, he’s not around. Out of the country on business.” John rolled his eyes, and conversation moved onto other things. _Ordinary people are so boring. Even John has begun to become like them._ You’re thinking like Jim, a little voice told him. Sherlock told it to fuck off. So what he shared some of his partner’s thoughts? They were true. Ordinary people, so petty, only caring about things that didn’t concern them. Take the newspapers; they were always writing about his and John’s apparent relationship. Hell, the day Jim had appeared in court, all the papers had written about was the fact that he and John had left the apartment at the same time. Sherlock hadn’t realised he was angry until John waved his hand in front of his face. “…Sherlock?”

“What?” he snapped, head jerking out of his thoughts. John almost jumped back, hurt in his eyes. “Were you listening to a single thing I just said?”

“No, and I’m afraid I’ve just remembered I’ve got somewhere to be.” He grabbed his coat and scarf, ignoring the confusion scrawled across John’s face. He left the coffee shop, headed towards 221B. He was almost home when someone called his name behind him. “Mr Holmes?” came a man’s voice; smooth, polite. Not a journalist, then. Sherlock turned round. “What?” he observed the man in front of him, realising all too late that this man was not here benignly. His foot slipped on ice as he tried to run (damn city council!) and he fell, hearing a snapping sound coming from his wrist. The man pulled him up, and into an alleyway lined with similarly dressed men. He was thrown against a brick wall. “Where is Dr Moriarty, Mr Holmes?” asked the first man. “Who are you?” asked Sherlock, head spinning from contact with the wall. “You can call me Xavier.”

“Is that your real name?”

“Do bears shit in the woods? Of course not,” replied Xavier. “Now, I’ll ask you again; where is Dr Moriarty?”

“No idea,” replied Sherlock. Xavier punched him in the eye, temporarily blinding him. “Liar. Where is he?”

“I don’t know.” The next blow came to Sherlock’s jaw, breaking it. “Now that was stupid of me,” mused Xavier. “Now you can’t speak. I’ll make this easier then.” He leaned in close to Sherlock. “I’m going to ask you a series of simple yes or no questions, and you’re going to shake or nod your head accordingly. Okay?” Sherlock nodded. “Oh, and don’t lie to me. I will know.” He stepped backwards. “Now. Is Dr Moriarty in London?” Sherlock shook his head. “Is he in the UK?” Sherlock shrugged, and Xavier delivered a swift kick to his solar plexus. He waited until Sherlock had finished vomiting. “Yes or no, Mr Holmes. Is Dr Moriarty in the UK?” Sherlock paused before shaking his head. _If anything, it’ll send these thugs away from me…_ “Is Dr Moriarty in Europe?” Sherlock shrugged again, resulting in a kick that broke three of his ribs. “Is Dr Moriarty in Europe?”

“Africa,” Sherlock spluttered out. “He’s in Africa.” Xavier backed off. “Thank you Mr Holmes. Anything you’d like us to pass on to your beloved criminal before we kill him?” “Tell him that I’ll be right by the fountain.” Xavier’s brow creased, trying to figure out if it was some kind of code, before shrugging. “All right. Now, Eric, Raven… help Mr Holmes out.” Xavier left the alley, followed by most of the thugs, leaving only two men behind. They looked at each other before advancing on Sherlock, and giving him the beating of a lifetime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Disclaimer* I don't live in London, so I have no idea what the city council is like. I'm purely basing my assumptions on the council where I live.  
> Sorry for the X-men names. They're obviously code-names, as I doubt Professor X would want Magneto and Raven beating the s**t out of people.


	10. Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock wakes up in hospital with Mycroft's shining wit by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the return of Mycroft! Don't worry, he's not up to anything here.

“Remember how much you made fun of me when we were children, and I had a head brace? All I can say, brother dear, is what goes around comes around.”

“Fuck off, Mycroft.” Sherlock had only just regained consciousness, and Mycroft was already pissing him off. His jaw was in a brace, his wrist in a cast along with his left leg. His fingers on his left hand were all taped together with some form of gauze. His spine was being held straight by some form of restraint, and upon picking up a mirror he discovered that his face was a bruised mess. Mycroft walked over to the side of his bed. “Where the fuck am I?” Mycroft tutted. “Eloquence, Sherlock. You are, in fact, in private room in hospital.” Genuine concern came into Mycroft’s voice. “Sherlock, are you alright? Aside from the obvious?”

“No, of course I’m not! I was just attacked by a group of men in an alley without CCTV, and I’ve got no idea why! And they were looking for Jim,” he wailed, the thought of Jim going through the same as him sending his heart rate skyrocketing. _A nurse is undoubtedly on her way_ , thought Sherlock. Mycroft appeared to be having the same thought. “Sherlock, calm down. My sources say Moriarty is absolutely fine, unlike you.”

“You know where he is?” Sherlock asked, brightening up a little. “Of course, Sherlock, he’s a wanted terrorist.” Sherlock was about to say more, but Mycroft silenced him. “No. you’re not supposed to be talking at all with that thing around your jaw.” Mycroft stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a country to run. A car will be along shortly to escort you home.”

He left the room, leaving Sherlock alone with his thoughts. Why hadn’t he fought back against those men? He could have easily escaped if he’d tried. And why did he say Jim was in Africa? He might be right, in which case he’d just lead them straight to Jim. And if he was wrong? They’d come back for him, and they’d find Jim anyway. A tear rolled down his face, stinging in the cuts. There was a knock at the door, and Sherlock hastily wiped away the tear. A smartly dressed woman stepped in. “Mr Holmes? Mycroft sent me. Come on, we’re taking you home.” She rolled over a wheelchair. Sherlock stared at it. “I can walk.”

“No you can’t. Your back is in a brace, your leg is broken as well as your wrist, meaning you can’t use crutches until it heals. Get in the wheelchair.” With her help, Sherlock did as he was told. She wheeled him out the door, nearly colliding with John Watson. “Sorry, sir,” said the woman. “Sherlock!” cried John. Sherlock ducked his head. “Sherlock, I’m so sorry! I should have come with you, it’s all my fault.” Sherlock shook his head, conveniently remembering what Mycroft had said about not talking with the brace on. John carried on. “I’ll come back with you, to make sure you’re okay.” The woman seems to pick up on Sherlock’s stress about this prospect. “It’s alright, sir, all Mr Holmes needs right now is some rest, and we’ll all be looking out for him.” John seemed satisfied with this. “Alright, Sherlock, just… just don’t hesitate to call if you need anything. I’m sorry,” he said as Sherlock was wheeled off down the corridor.

After being delivered to 221B, Sherlock was finally left in peace, lying face up on the sofa with his phone, his laptop and the TV remote left within reach. He waited until the front door clicked shut before reaching for his phone. He sent a long text to Jim.

_Jim, I know you probably won’t read this but I’ve been attacked by a group of men, looking for you. I told them you in Africa, but I don’t know if that’s actually where you are. Please, just keep yourself safe. SH x_

A tear rolled down his face as he pressed send, and this time he didn’t bother wiping it away. For whatever reason, this attack had really shaken him up. He’d gained a sense of invincibility while Jim had been around. None of the criminals in the city had dared touch him, in fear of Moriarty’s wrath. The savage beating he’d received had reminded him that in actual fact, he wasn’t invincible, and Jim wasn’t always going to be around to save him. He allowed himself to cry this one time, but after that, the great Sherlock Holmes would be back with a vengeance, and that was a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor John, he thinks it's his fault :( another *disclaimer* I am aware that not all nurses are female.


	11. Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim is in New York when he gets Sherlock's text. As can be imagined, he's not too happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just felt as if more Jim was needed.

Jim sat in a café in New York, looking to all the world like just another businessman enjoying his lunch break. In reality, he was having a text conversation with a man who knew a fair amount about anthrax. _Haven’t used anthrax in a while,_ he mused with a smile. _This should be fun; should scare a few people_.

He’d gotten Sherlock’s texts earlier, and as much as he had wanted to reply, tell him where he was, he didn’t want to get Sherlock involved in this. He sat peacefully in the café enjoying an Irish coffee, until his phone buzzed again. He hadn’t expected Ivington to reply so quickly.

_Oh._

It was Sherlock. He was about to ignore it, but the message preview caught his eye. He slid to unlock, and read the message, getting more and more angry. No, not with Sherlock. He’d done what he had to. He was mainly angry with himself for leaving Sherlock alone and exposed. He threw some dollars down on the table (doing runners from cafés wasn’t his style) and left quickly, ignoring the smiley employee that thanked him for choosing their café. He hailed one of the ridiculous yellow taxis, and made his way to the airport for the next flight back to England.


	12. You broke my favourite detective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's life is hanging in the balance when Xavier pays him another visit

Sherlock woke up the next morning, aching and sore. Fortunately, Mrs Hudson had been in with some tea and had left two tablets on the tray next to a chocolate digestive. Sherlock didn’t particularly feel like eating or drinking, but he swallowed the tablets and checked his phone for the time. Twelve hours! He’d really been asleep all that time? He was trying to go back to sleep when he heard a creak on the stairs. He panicked, knowing he couldn’t run away, and there was no chance in hell of fighting. The door swung open, and Xavier appeared, grinning. “Hello, Mr Holmes. I see Eric and Raven did a good job.” Sherlock said nothing. “Anyway, I’m here on business. A little bird tells me you lied to me yesterday. I have people in every nation in Africa, and none of them have seen Dr Moriarty. I’m afraid this means I’m going to have to hurt you even more.”   
“Don’t you fucking dare touch him.” Sherlock’s heart leapt as Jim’s voice sounded from the doorway. Xavier spun around. “Dr Moriarty. I’ve been looking for you.”  
“So I’ve heard. Well, here I am. What do you want?” Xavier stepped up to level face to face with Jim. “To repay a debt.” Jim raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, I don’t recall…” Xavier laughed, “I wouldn’t expect you to. Why would you? After all, I was only a child when I met you. Just a scared little boy when I came home from school to find both my parents lying dead on the kitchen floor.” Jim held up his hands. “Nope, still nothing. I’ve killed a fair few people in my time’ you’re going to have to be more specific.” Xavier laughed again. “It doesn’t matter who I am. You took everything from me that day, and I’m here to repay the favour.”  
Now it was Jim’s turn to laugh. “What, you’re going to kill me? Honey, smarter men have tried.”   
“You’re right; initially I was going to kill you. But now, I think I’ll kill him instead.” Xavier pulled Sherlock off the sofa, causing the detective to cry out in pain. A click that Sherlock knew all too well stopped Xavier in his tracks. “Put him back where he was,” said Jim calmly. “Or I will pull the trigger.” Xavier cocked his head to one side, giving Jim the type of look a stern teacher gives a disobedient child before pushing his thumbs ever so gently into Sherlock’s windpipe, steadily increasing the pressure.   
A shot rang out through the apartment. Xavier flopped forwards, sending Sherlock toppling to the floor, unable to move the dying man off him. Jim ran over, pushing Xavier off Sherlock. He checked the man for weapons before kicking him away. He carefully picked Sherlock up and lay him back down on the sofa. He whipped round to face the man now trying to crawl out the door of the flat. “Oh no you don’t,” said Jim, vicious glint in his eyes.   
Sherlock watched as Jim beat the crap out of the pathetic excuse of a man who’d dared lay a hand on his detective. He couldn’t help but be slightly afraid as he watched the way Jim fought- ruthless, cold, and vicious- until the man lay motionless on the floor. Then Jim ran back to Sherlock, all signs of anger evaporating. “Sherlock, I’m so sorry!” he cried, tears rolling down his cheeks. He knelt by Sherlock’s side, sobbing. “Look at you, all the bruises, and the casts, and the thing on your back… I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.” By this point Sherlock was crying too. “No, Jim, it’s not.”  
Jim looked up, face stained with tears. “What?”  
“It’s not your fault. You didn’t assault me, or order them to, so it’s not your fault.” Police sirens sounded outside. “Shit,” said Jim, looking out the window. “The police can’t see me like this.” He ran to the bathroom to clean up in the thirty seconds he had before Lestrade burst onto the scene, gun drawn. “Sherlock!” he yelled, causing Sherlock to flinch. “There’s no need to shout, Graham. I’m fine.” Lestrade lowered his weapon slowly. Jim reappeared from the bathroom, looking remarkably fresh. “Good morning, Detective Inspector. I believe the man you want is in that corner where I left him.” Mycroft walked in just as Lestrade fiddled with his cuffs. “I shouldn’t bother, dear,” he said. “I should imagine he’s already dead.”  
“Oh, Mikey, you know me so well,” grinned Jim. “You see, he broke my favourite detective; I couldn’t just let him get away with it, could I?” Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Fortunately for you, he’s nobody we could lament being rid of.”   
The body was put in a body bag and sent down to the morgue, where the medical students dissected it with glee. Mycroft left with Lestrade, claiming that Greg had done enough work for today and needed to come home now. Jim rolled his eyes and mimed putting a finger down his throat. Sherlock gave a weak grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone needs a Jim Moriarty, don't they? Someone to come and beat the crap out of people for them, and to love them unconditionally forever.  
> I'm a romantic, okay?


	13. People help the people

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Jim wind down after a stressful morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The last one, the one that's supposed to give closure to all you lovely folk that read my story.

Finally, the flat was cleared of police officers and medical staff and brothers. Jim had pulled up an armchair next to Sherlock’s sofa. In the end, however, he arranged himself and Sherlock on the sofa so that he was sat up, with Sherlock’s head in his lap. He sat stroking Sherlock’s hair. “Do you know what we need?” asked Jim. “We need some music.” He shifted Sherlock’s head, placing it gently down on the sofa before grabbing his phone from his pocket and putting it in the built in docking station on Sherlock’s CD player, carefully choosing a song.  
He slid back onto the sofa as the song began to play. As the lyrics came, Jim sang along softly, still stroking Sherlock’s hair.  
“God knows what is hiding in those weak and drunken hearts, guess he kissed the girls and made them cry, those hard faced queens of misadventure.”  
“God knows what is hiding in those weak and sunken eyes,” joined in Sherlock, eyes closed, barely moving his mouth. “Fiery throngs of muted angels, giving love but getting nothing back.”  
They stayed on the sofa, singing softly. Jim stopped singing about halfway through, wanting to see whether Sherlock would notice. The detective kept singing, voice growing stronger as he went on.  
Sherlock kept singing. He knew this song. It had come up in his suggested list on YouTube, and he’d listened out of curiosity. “People, help the people, and if you’re homesick, give me your hand and I’ll hold it,” he sang, baritone resonating through the flat. He’d never felt safer in his life. He could feel the warmth of Jim’s breath on his face as his fingers combed through his hair. He noticed Jim had stopped singing. He opened his eyes. “Why did you stop?”  
“I wanted to hear you sing,” Jim replied, gazing down into Sherlock’s eyes in a lovesick puppy kind of way. “Are you okay, Jim? Sentimentality isn’t usually your forte.” Jim shrugged. “I guess I’m just glad I didn’t lose you.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “No, it’s true,” protested Jim. “Honestly, I don’t think I could face the world without you. It’s odd, really. Before I met you, I was planning on ending you, but now…” Jim trailed off. He reached over the side of the sofa for his briefcase. He rifled about in his briefcase before pulling out a Sharpie. “Can I sign your cast?” Sherlock threw his arm over his head, and Jim grabbed hold of it, the scent of permanent marker filling the air. He released Sherlock’s arm, and Sherlock brought it round so he could see. What he read stopped his heart. 

Will you marry me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that wasn't really that surprising... Anyway, you can bet that Jim and Sherlock will lead a full and exciting life together as a married couple.  
> To you, dear reader,  
> I hope you enjoyed my fic. Kudos is appreciated, but the very fact that you've read my work makes me incredibly happy. My gift is my writing and this one's for you, but for now, I bid you adieu.  
> (bonus points for the smart cookies who figure out which song I just paraphrased)


End file.
